Nature vs Nurture
by allthingsdecent
Summary: An AU take on Season 2's "Who's Your Daddy?" as prompted by my pal gnortn. What if Cuddy HAD asked Wilson to be her sperm donor? Jealous!House and hilarity I hope ensues.


**A note from ATD: I was really missing some old school House and Cuddy banter, so I came up with this. It's entirely thanks to a prompt from the lovely and talented gnortn: What if Cuddy had asked Wilson to be her sperm donor? Obviously, a bit AU. In this, House had no idea that Cuddy was trying to get pregnant. Also, I finally managed to organically put the word "Huddy" in one of my stories! Rejoice! (Hey, it's the little things.)**

Wilson walked into House's office, looking a bit flushed.

"What's wrong, Wilson?" House said. "You look like you just got hit by a busload of divorce lawyers."

Wilson slumped into the seat across from House's desk. He had a dazed look in his eyes.

"You know that date I had with Cuddy?" he said.

"_Yeaaaah_?" House said coaxingly.

"It wasn't really a date."

"I knew it!" House said, with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than intended.

"It was a test."

House furrowed his brow.

"What kind of test?"

"A test to see if I was daddy material," Wilson said.

"Kinky," House said cautiously, raising an eyebrow. "Role playing? Spanking? X-rated baby talk? That kind of thing?"

"No. Not daddy to Cuddy—although I suppose that could be fun. Daddy to her unborn child." Wilson looked up at House, with a mixture of triumph and concern: "She wants me to be her sperm donor."

House collapsed back into his chair. Now _he_ had a slightly dazed look on his face.

"You're shitting me," he said.

"No. I assure you. Not shitting you at all."

"Cuddy wants a rug rat? With you?"

"Apparently, her biological clock is ticking and she has no man in her life—or any immediate prospect of a man in her life—so she's taking matters into her own hands."

"More like your hands," House said under his breath. Then a horrible thought popped into his head: "She doesn't want to actually _sleep with you_, does she?"

"Sadly no," Wilson said. "She just wants my sperm. Not the body attached to it."

House was completely distracted, but trying to focus on his friend.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I honestly have no idea," Wilson said. "She told me to take my time and think about it. She said that I wouldn't have to be involved in the child's life. . .but if I were to bring a child into this world, I'd want to be its father, you know? Cuddy and I are friends. We could find a way to make it work. And maybe. . .who knows?"

"Who knows what, Wilson?" House growled.

Wilson looked down.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm getting way ahead of myself."

Then he looked back at House.

"And don't tell Cuddy I told you, okay? It's supposed to be a secret."

#####

The minute Wilson left House's office—he was literally scratching his head as he walked out the door—House made his way down to Cuddy's.

She was on the phone.

"What's wrong with my sperm?" House said loudly.

Cuddy looked up, surprised.

"I'm going to have to call you back," she said quickly. She hung up.

Then she got up, kind of pushed House a bit so he flopped back onto her couch, and closed her office door.

"Why don't you say it a little louder, House? I'm not sure all the nurses and patients heard you."

"_WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY SP_…!"

Cuddy swatted him on the back of the head—hard.

"Ouch," House said, rubbing his head.

She sat down across from him.

"I swear to God. Did Wilson go straight from our lunch to your office?"

"Apparently so."

"I told him not to tell anyone—_especially_ you."

"Wilson puts the T in TMI. Also, the M and the I."

"Obviously, not one of the qualities I chose him for."

"So it's true?" House said, disappointed.

"Yes," Cuddy said. "I've been thinking about having a child for a while and I suddenly realized, it's now or never."

"And I repeat," he said, although he lowered his voice this time. "What's wrong with my sperm?"

"Nothing," said Cuddy. "Except for the fact that it comes out of your penis."

"Why can't I be the father to the Spawn of Cuddy?"

She rolled her eyes.

"_Seriously _House?"

"Yes," he said, defiantly.

"Is this even a real question? Or is this just about your ego being hurt because I asked Wilson and not you?"

"Why him?"

"He's smart, kind, responsible, hard working. . ."

House pretended to fall asleep in his chair. The he bolted upright, shaking off his sleep.

"Sorry, I nodded off there," he said.

"He's your best friend!"

"Which means I'm the most qualified to know just how boring he is."

"Boring is a wonderful quality in a potential sperm donor. Wilson is a rock of stability He's an anchor."

"And what am I?"

"You're a ride on the rapids—in a leaky boat," Cuddy said.

"You know, my infarction isn't hereditary, Cuddy," House said, hurt. "Any kid of mine would have two good legs."

"I'm well aware of that, House. I'm a doctor. And remember, I knew you back when you were . . .fully functional."

They exchanged a look.

"Then what?"

"I don't need to justify my decision to you," Cuddy said.

"But you don't even want to have sex with Wilson," House said, pointedly.

"Who said we were having sex? Did he say—"

"Don't get your thong in a twist, Cuddy. He told me he was jerking off into a cup—although he did say you promised to provide nude photos of yourself for visual stimulation."

"I never—"

"Just kidding. He's going to use one of the nude photos of you I found on the internet."

"Ha ha."

"The point is, we are biologically programmed to want to have sex to propagate the race."

"Thank you, Charles Darwin."

"But you don't want to have sex with Wilson. That should tell you something."

"Tell me what?"

"That you should ask someone else to be the father of your little buttercup."

Cuddy laughed, dryly.

"Let me guess. You?"

"Exactly."

"Oh, because I so desperately want to have sex with you."

"You said it. Not me."

"I think you're confusing your pronouns there, buddy."

"Of course, the feeling is mutual," House said, matter of factly.

"So because I _allegedly_ want to have sex with you, you're a better choice to be the father of my child? By that logic, I should be mating with every hot guy I meet at a bar."

"You think I'm hot?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"I was merely following your logic."

"Don't blame me, blame the laws of evolution."

"And the fact that you're a miserable pill-popping misanthrope—"

"The ovaries want what the ovaries want, Cuddy. You can't force these things. Wilson may be your idea of nurture but I am definitely part of your nature."

"House, you hate children."

"I hate most children. I'd make an exception for a little Huddy."

"Huddy?" She wrinkled her nose.

"House plus Cuddy. Pay attention here, woman!"

"House, you can't even keep a plant alive in your apartment."

"Nonsense. Just because I _choose _to kill off all my plants, that doesn't mean I couldn't keep one alive if I wanted to."

Cuddy looked at him seriously.

"House, I know everything's a game to you but this isn't a game to me. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings but I've given this a lot of thought. Wilson is the perfect sperm donor for me. If he says yes, we're going through with it—and I hope you'll be supportive of my decision."

"What do you care if I support your decision?" House said, sulkily.

"You know you're opinion means a lot to me," Cuddy said. She was trying to make him feel better.

"More than Wilson's?" he said.

"House, I have work to do."

House popped up.

"You have a distorted view of me, Cuddy. You think I'm irresponsible but you're wrong. And I'm going to prove it."

####

Two days later, Cuddy went into House's office to see if he had filled out a case file and he was sitting at his desk with a tiny black and brown dachshund puppy in his lap.

Cuddy laughed.

"What on earth?"

"Cuddy, meet Dick. Dick meet Cuddy."

"You got a _dog_?" she said, rolling her eyes. "To prove to me what a responsible father you could be?"

"I'm not an idiot," House said. "This isn't my puppy. I'm puppy sitting."

"Who would be irresponsible enough to let you watch their dog?"

"Joanna and Brad from accounting," House said.

"You mean Joanna and Brad who are on their honeymoon right now?"

"Brad bought a puppy for Joanna as a wedding gift," House said. "Isn't that special?"

"And they named it . . ._Dick_?"

"No, they named it Murphy. Dick is my nickname for him. . . On account of him looking like a penis."

"I got it, House. But what I can't figure out is how you convinced them to let you watch their puppy. Does one of them secretly _hate_ the puppy?"

"Once I told them that my parents bred dachshunds when I was a kid, they felt completely comfortable leaving Dick in my hands, so to speak."

"I didn't know your parents bred dogs," she said.

"That's because they didn't. Mom was allergic. But how else was I going to convince Joanna and Brad to let me watch their pup. They're not morons."

Cuddy folded her arms.

"How long's the honeymoon?"

"10 days."

"I give you 3 days before you either lose the little wiener or beg Wilson to watch it for you."

House smiled.

"You're on. And what do I get when I win?"

"You get to be the father of my child, of course."

"Awesome!"

"That was a joke House. And the fact that you actually believed it, shows just how _not_ ready you are."

"I knew you were kidding," he said, unconvincingly. "But we have to bet something."

"Like what?" she said.

"Like sex," he said, with an all too confident grin.

"I would report you to PETA," Cuddy said.

"Not between me and the dog, Cuddy. And _ewwwwwww, _by the way. Me and you."

"I know what you meant."

"So what do you say?"

"It's a bet!"

He perked up. "Seriously?"

She laughed, derisively. "No, House. There will be no sex. No sperm deposits. No baby making of any kind. Just the pride in knowing that you proved me wrong. . .not that it's ever going to happen."

"We'll see about that," he said, petting the dog's slippery head. Then he bent toward the pup: "Won't we see about that, Dick? Won't we?"

#####

Wilson was getting on House's nerves.

He spent the next several days fretting about being the father of Cuddy's hypothetical baby.

It was all he thought about—or talked about.

He devoted entire lunches to weighing the pros and cons of agreeing to Cuddy's proposal.

"I'm not a woman so of course, I don't have a biological clock," he said musingly.

House shrugged, not quite conceding.

"But at the same time, maybe my window to be a father—a real father, the kind of dad I would want to be, the kind of dad my father never was— is closing. Maybe the timing of this is absolutely perfect. Maybe Cuddy is forcing me to step up the to plate and take a chance on something I've always shied away from, for fear I'd be no good at it. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."

"I'm not sure you crammed enough cliches into that one statement there, pal," House said.

But Wilson ignored him, and was now going on about his own father's emotional unavailability.

Wilson's yammering was, of course, boring as hell, but it had two advantages:

One, Wilson was even less likely to notice that House was swiping food off his plate during these long soliloquies and two, the longer Wilson hedged, the more time House had to convince Cuddy that he was the sperm donor for her.

#####

Seven days in and, much to Cuddy's surprise, House still was taking care of that damn dog.

And, of course, it was House, so he couldn't just leave it in a crate in his office. He had to carry it all over the hospital with him, like some sort of adorable, four-legged prop—attracting female attention wherever he went.

"Ohmygod, he's soooooo cute," said Britney, a perky new candy striper. They were both standing at the hospital front desk. "What's his name?"

"Dick," said House.

She laughed.

"Great name!" she said. "Because he kinda looks like a penis!"

"You're good," House said.

She was petting the dog and positively sidling up to House, her boobs in his face. Cuddy idly flipped through some folders, watching them out of the corner of her eye.

"I have to finish my shift," Britney said, noticing her boss. "But I want to play with him! Can I come by your office after work?"

"Of course," House said, smiling broadly in Cuddy's direction. "We all need a little puppy love from time to time."

Britney laughed, hit him flirtatiously.

"Puppy love. You're so funny, Dr. House."

She sashayed away.

House turned to Cuddy.

"It's like taking candy from a candy striper," he said. "I may have to seriously think about getting one of these things permanently."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and walked away.

#######

The next day, House was sitting at his desk playing online solitaire when Foreman came bursting into the room.

"Why didn't you answer your page?" he said to House.

"I had it on vibrate," House said. "And keep your voice down. Can't you see that Dick is asleep?"

He gestured to the pup, who was curled on a pile of newspapers at his feet.

"Well, your patient is crashing," Foreman said.

"And you're telling me this instead of frantically trying to revive him because. . . ?"

"Cameron and Chase are with him, but we can't stabilize him. Every time we bring him back, he crashes again. We need you."

House sighed.

He looked at Dick, who was snoring contentedly.

"Alright," he said. "I suppose he'll be okay on his own."

He followed Foreman out of his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

When he came back an hour later—the culprit had been a tiny cyst wrapped around the patient's carotid artery—he was feeling pretty good about himself for once again solving a case that his numbskull team couldn't crack.

He sat back down at this desk, put his hands behind his head, and gave a self-satisfied sigh.

And then he noticed that Dick was gone.

"Dick!" he called out.

He looked under the desk. He looked in the DDx room.

"C'mere, little guy. C'mere."

He pulled some dog treats out of his desk, shook the bag.

"C'mon, Dick. Daddy's got some snausages for you."

But the pup was nowhere to be found.

"Crap," he said out loud.

Just at that moment, Chase, Cameron, and Foreman made their way to the DDx room.

"Which one of you idiots opened the door and let Dick out?" House yelled.

"It wasn't us!" Chase said. "We were in the patient's room with you."

"Dick got out?" Cameron said, concerned.

"Dick didn't get out," said House. "Somebody opened my office door to _let him out_. Dick hasn't developed the ability to jump 3 feet in the air and open doors just yet."

Foreman peered into House's office.

"The empty waste basket might be a clue," he said.

House looked down. Sure enough, the waste basket next to his desk was emptied and the floor had been vacuumed. The cleaning crew had obviously been by.

"They haven't emptied that trash can in a week. They pick _now_ to decide to clean my office?"

He turned to his team.

"Okay, drop everything, including The Carotid Kid. We need all hands on deck here. We're putting out an APB for Dick. I don't want an inch of this hospital unsearched. And whatever you do, _do not_ tell Cuddy he's loose."

###

House figured that dogs loved kids, so he limped down to the children's ward.

He saw lots of stuffed dogs, but no real ones.

"I'm going to turn out the lights, and the kid who swiped my dog can put him here on the bed, no questions asked," he said menacingly to a room full of young patients who stared up at him, amused. "But if you don't return my dog—I'm. . .totally telling."

Just then, Nurse Jeffrey tapped him on the shoulder.

"Kinda busy here," House said.

"Dr. Cuddy wants to see you," Nurse Jeffrey said.

"Tell her I'll be up in . . .15 minutes," House said. He surveyed the young patients, his hands on his hips. One little boy barked, and everyone giggled.

"She said now," Nurse Jeffrey said, smugly.

House sighed. He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then back at the children—the universal "I'm watching you" symbol.

"I'll be back," he said.

He followed Nurse Jeffrey out of the ward.

When he got to Cuddy's office, she was sitting in the chair behind her desk, with her back to him.

She swiveled the chair—revealing Dick in her lap.

"Dick!" House said happily. The dog leapt out of Cuddy's arms and bolted over to him, its tail wagging wildly. House picked the pup up, raised him over his head. The pup licked his face. House grinned, until he realized that the reunion was not an altogether happy one.

"You cheated," House said. "You obviously stole him from my office!"

"I did no such thing," Cuddy said. "Lou the janitor found him wandering the fourth floor."

The little fella must've taken the elevator at some point, a thought that made House smile.

"I can explain," House said.

Cuddy gave him a knowing look.

"I'm sure you can."

"There was an emergency. They called the code. My incompetent team needed me."

"Uh huh. . ."

"I left the door closed! There was no way Dick could get out!"

"And yet he did," Cuddy said.

"It was the cleaning crew. They decided to clean for a change, just when I was heroically _saving a life_."

He could tell by the look on Cuddy's face that she was unmoved by his protestations.

"I'm not a moron, Cuddy," he said. "I'd never leave a _baby _alone in my office."

"You lasted 8 days, House," she said. "That's 5 more days than I thought you'd last. But you still lost."

House started to object, then thought better of it.

"Whatever," he said.

He turned and left.

As he made his way down the hallway, Cuddy heard him say, in a gentle voice, "You scared me, buddy. You scared me. Don't ever do that again."

#####

Joanna and Brad came back from their honeymoon, so House had to give back Dick (who, much to House's dismay, was once again going by Murphy). That night, Cuddy wandered up to his office to check on him.

He was sitting alone at his desk, with the lights almost entirely dimmed, idly tossing his ball.

"Wow. Looks like I walked in on something really depressing here," Cuddy teased.

"I have a headache," he said. "The light was bothering my eyes."

"It's okay, House. I know you miss Dick."

"Oh please. He wasn't a pet. He was a social experiment."

"Then why do you look like a kid who just lost his . . . puppy?"

"You're projecting Cuddy. Must be all those hormones you're injecting."

Cuddy smiled at him.

"Not that you need cheering up or anything, but why not let me buy you a drink?" she said.

He looked at her.

"I said I was fine," he said.

"I know you're fine. But there's something I want to talk to you about anyway. Sullivan's?"

He shrugged, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and followed her.

At Sullivan's, he ordered a scotch neat and she ordered a martini.

"You sure you should be drinking that, _mom_?" he said.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she said, taking a sip. "I told Wilson that I changed my mind. I don't want him to be the father of my child."

He looked at her expectantly.

"Because. . .?"

"Because, you're right. Between you and Wilson, I always choose you. He knows that. You know that. And. . .the baby would know it, too."

"So you're saying you want _me_ to. . ."

"No, House. I don't want you to be my baby daddy. I'm thinking of other options. Maybe a sperm bank. Maybe adoption. One thing's for sure, it's way too complicated to ask someone I know—especially when both you and Wilson are involved."

House looked down at his drink. He felt strangely satisfied by this turn of events and knew that if fed right into Cuddy's theory—that it was never about being the father of Cuddy's child, it was always about her picking him over Wilson.

"So how did Wilson take the news?" he asked.

"He was disappointed. . . .And a little relieved," Cuddy admitted.

House smiled.

"Are you totally sure about this kid, thing, Cuddy?" he said. "A night like tonight—a spontaneous drink between colleagues. That sort of thing would be but a distant memory for you."

"Yes, House. Because you and I are constantly getting drinks together."

"Why don't we?" he said, leaning toward her.

She backed away, on instinct.

"Because. . .we don't have that kind of relationship."

"We did," he said, leaning toward her again. "Once."

"A lifetime ago," she said. But this time she didn't back up.

"Do you ever think about it?" he asked.

"Do I think about our . . . one night stand?"

She was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. But he was looking deeply into her eyes. _Fuck_. She couldn't resist those eyes when he was being a complete ass. This sincerity mode was going to be the death of her.

"Sometimes," she said tentatively. "Do you?"

"All the time," he said.

She swallowed hard, then looked at her watch, rather abruptly.

"It's late, House. I should get going."

He backed off, gulped down his drink.

"Whatever you say, boss," he said.

They walked into the parking lot.

But instead of turning toward his bike, like she expected him to, he followed her to her car.

Once again, he was standing dangerously close to her—they were both practically vibrating from the nearness.

"What are you doing, House?" she said.

"This," he said.

And he leaned down and kissed her.

He had the most amazing lips. She imagined those lips on her neck, her breasts, between her legs.

_Focus Lisa, focus_.

"That's n-n-not with this drink was about," she stammered. "I must've given you the wrong impression."

"Did you?" he asked.

"Yes, I only meant for it to be. . ." but she lost her train of thought, because House was gently pushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"Then go," he said softly.

But it was like her legs were planted to the pavement.

"You don't seem to be going," he said, lifting her chin with a finger.

"No," she sighed. "I don't."

He kissed her again, but this time, she submitted fully—melding his warm tongue with her own. And he slammed her up against the car, and they were going at it greedily—as if their mouths and hands couldn't roam each other fast enough—until he managed to deftly open the car door and they fell into the back seat.

"Your leg?" she breathed.

"What leg?" he said, kissing her all over. He began unbuttoning his pants.

He hiked up her skirt, yanked off her thong.

"Did you . . . bring anything?" she managed to choke out.

"Cuddy, is that truly necessary?" he said, parting her legs with his own.

She may have been about to have sex with House in a bar parking lot—but she hadn't _completely_ lost her mind. She stopped kissing him, closed her legs.

"If you want to get laid it is," she said.

His eyes widened.

"In my wallet," he groaned.

And she reached into the back pocket of his jeans—he had already kicked them halfway down his legs—and found a condom.

THE END


End file.
